“Destroyer come a-hunting,” said Yama.
“Thunder chariot!” cried one of the mercenaries, making a sign with his hand.
“Shiva passes,” said a monk, eyes wide with fear. “The Destroyer . . .”
“Had I known at the time how well I wrought,” said Yama, “I might have numbered its days intentionally. Occasionally, do I regret my genius.”
It passed beneath the Bridge of the Gods, swung above the jungle, fell away to the south. Its roar gradually diminished as it departed in that direction. Then there was silence.
A bird made a brief piping noise. Another replied to it. Then all the sounds of life began again and the travelers returned to their trail.
“He will be back,” said Yama, and this was true. Twice more that day did they have to leave the trail as the thunder chariot passed above their heads. On the last occasion, it circled the monastery, possibly observing the funeral rites being conducted there. Then it crossed over the mountains and was gone.
That night they made camp under the stars, and on the second night they did the same.
The third day brought them to the river Deeva and the small port city of Koona. It was there that they found the transportation they wished, and they set forth that same evening, heading south by bark to where the Deeva joined with the mighty Vedra, and then proceeded onward to pass at last the wharves of Khaipur, their destination.
As they flowed with the river, Sam listened to its sounds. He stood upon the dark deck, his hands resting on the rail. He stared out across the waters where the bright heavens rose and fell, star bending back upon star. It was then that the night addressed him in the voice of Ratri, from somewhere nearby.
“You have passed this way before, Tathagatha.”
“Many times,” he replied. “The Deeva is a thing of beauty under the stars, in its rippling and its folding.”
“Indeed.”
“We go now to Khaipur and the Palace of Kama. What will you do when we arrive?”
“I will spend some time in meditation, goddess.”
“Upon what shall you meditate?”
“Upon my past lives and the mistakes they each contained. I must review my own tactics as well as those of the enemy.”
“Yama thinks the Golden Cloud to have changed you.”
“Perhaps it has.”
“He believes it to have softened you, weakened you. You have always posed as a mystic, but now he believes you have become one — to your own undoing, to our undoing.”
He shook his head, turned around. But he did not see her. Stood she there invisible, or had she withdrawn? He spoke softly and without inflection:
“I shall tear these stars from out the heavens,” he stated, “and hurl them in the faces of the gods, if this be necessary. I shall blaspheme in every Temple throughout the land. I shall take lives as a fisherman takes fish, by the net, if this be necessary. I shall mount me again up to the Celestial City, though every step be a flame or a naked sword and the way be guarded by tigers. One day will the gods look down from Heaven and see me upon the stair, bringing them the gift they fear most. That day will the new Yuga begin.
“But first I must meditate for a time,” he finished.
He turned back again and stared out over the waters.
A shooting star burnt its way across the heavens. The ship moved on. The night sighed about him.
Sam stared ahead, remembering.